Not Crazy
by KingSquatch
Summary: The Joker recruits crazies released from Arkham, but after recruiting Jane Jones he begins to doubt Arkhams credibility. Joker/OC
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

I always hated the privileged area of Gotham. Everyone turning up their nose at you, like you were the fresh dog crap left on the sidewalk that just ruined their brand new expensive white shoes that could have fed hundreds of the starving homeless people roaming around the slums of Gotham. They send their children to the most expensive schools and parade them around like toy poodles. I should know, I was one.

My parents married for status and money, not for love or companionship. My father hired escorts and spent his nights with prostitutes, while my mother bought the newest Coco&Chanel bags and gossiped with the other greedy wives. The only reason they had me was for my father to marry me off to some wealthy family and a new dress-up doll for my mother to march around, it also helped with the happy family facade.

I've always been different though. I hated designer brands and elite parties. My parents didn't have to bribe my teachers, because I've always excelled in all of my classes. I was always forced to go to the 'charity' balls and 'fundraisers' and I never mingled with the other people my age. They enjoyed this life, they indulged it, embraced it. I never understood the greed and selfishness of people, especially my own parents.

At night I would sneak out, wearing torn skinny jeans, combat boots, and an Alice in Chains t-shirt with my long blonde hair braided down my back. Even though it was nighttime I wore aviators to hide my blue eyes and hopefully my identity. I would always sneak into bars or tattoo shops with my fake ID and try to forget what awaited me when I got home.

When I turned sixteen I snuck out of my party, like they were really celebrating my birthday, and I got my first tattoo. They've slowly added up since then. I now have a tattoo sleeve on my right arm and wings coming out of my back, but of course I bought some tattoo covering makeup. If either of my parents knew about them they would make me get them removed.

When I turned eighteen my parents told me of my arranged marriage. I was distressed and it was the first time I had ever yelled at my parents. Of course they told me I would get married whether I wanted to or not and grounded me, even though I was eighteen. I would have runaway if I had anywhere to go, but I've seen the homeless people around here and I don't want to end up like that. Though the grounding didn't stop me that night when I went to a local bar to drink my sorrows away.

I met my husband the next day. As soon as I seen him I hated him. He was the embodiment of everything I've ever hated. From his fancy expensive shoes to his fake tan and perfectly styled hair. He leered at me and I put on my fake smiles while cringing in disgust on the inside. His father was a lawyer and he was going to college to get his degree so he could follow in his father's footsteps. They had their own law firm, Johnson&Johnson, a father and son law office and it was very successful. My father was a plastic surgeon who had worked on Mrs. Johnson and they had arranged our marriage there.

Within a year I was also Mrs. Johnson. Though I hated my husband, I was numb on our wedding and any other night he was having needs. When he walked in on me while I was showering and seen my tattoos he was livid. He beat me and yelled at me for 'ruining' my body. He then dragged me into the kitchen and grabbed one of our fancy kitchen knives and sliced at the wings on my back.

Once he was done ruining my back he called my father and told him the situation, but of course my parents didn't care about my well being. My father rushed over and stitched me up and scolded me for the disgusting markings on my body. What a great father I have, even though I was in pain on the floor surrounded by blood, he won't forgo his fatherly duties in disciplining me. They left me on the floor, without any pain medication and I eventually passed out. When I woke up my husband was nudging me with his foot, telling me to clean up the mess I made in his kitchen. I struggled and after a few tries I got up and cleaned the mess.

I started to go to bars again and one night when I returned I caught my husband in our bed with a prostitute. I told him I needed to speak with him when he was done with his whore and closed the door behind me. I waited on the couch ignoring the scantly dressed woman as she eventually hobbled past me. My husband eventually walked in to the living room and stood, glaring at me. I told him I couldn't do this anymore, that I couldn't just stand and look pretty for him anymore. He beat me again. I got sick of it and ran that night, while he was asleep. He found me eventually.

A police officer recognized me in the park and drove me to our oversized house. My husband thanked him and I hid in the guest room closet. He found me though and told me he couldn't stand me anymore. He put me in Arkham Asylum under the name of Jane Jones, like he couldn't have picked a better name. He told them I had schizophrenia and any other mental illness that would insure that I was in here for a long time. He then had Victoria Johnson, proclaimed dead from eating something she was allergic to and I was able to watch my own funeral from the television in the corner of my room. My parents were good actors at playing the role of grieving parents. He probably payed them a good sum of money to forget I even existed, though it probably wasn't hard for them anyways.

My doctor soon realized that there was nothing wrong with me and as long as I agreed to keep silent about who I was really was she would let me go on good behavior. Of course I agreed, I didn't want my old life back anyways.

I am currently living in the slums and have a job bar tending next door. I love my life now and don't miss my past in the slightest. No one bothers me and I keep to myself like I always have. Now I'm twenty-three and enjoying the seclusion and quiet of my home and the rowdiness and loud music of the bar. Though, apparently, I'm not supposed to have a quiet and uneventful life.

**Author's Note: Joker's going to be in the next chapter. I just wanted to kind of describe her personality and what made her that way. **


	2. Chapter 2

I put on my work uniform of black shorts and a black tank top. Though there isn't really a specific uniform I have to wear. My boss just wants me to wear something I'm comfortable in, but that's also appealing to the opposite sex. I am a bar tender after all and no one wants to buy drinks from a nun. I put on my black ankle boots and make my way out of my old wooden door, locking it behind me. I walk down the stairs and out into the cool spring air.

I feel like I'm being watched and I quicken my speed. Thankfully, the bar I work at is only a block away from my apartment building and I'm soon breathing in the calming scent of sweat and liquor. I walk behind the counter and toss my backpack under it. I walk to the back room, were my boss usually hangs out.

"I'm here," I call out. It's my way of clocking in. I hear him grunt out an okay and I walk back out behind the counter. No one's here right now, it's to early in the day, so I pull my book out of my backpack. Even though I've been out of school now for five years, I still like to learn. I'm currently reading _Phantoms in the Brain_ by V.S. Ramachandran, M.D., Ph.D., and Sandra Blakeslee, it's a book about neurology, which is the study of the brain. I used to read romance and mystery books all the time, but I feel that once you've read one you've read them all. I wanted to learn something while I was reading and not feel like I'm wasting my time. So I've been reading different Psychology and Neurology books.

The door chimes signaling someone has come in and I shut my book and put it back in my bag. A middle aged man hops onto a bar stool and looks at me.

"What can I get ya?" I say leaning on the bar.

"Beer."

"What kind?"  
"Doesn't matter."

I grab a random one and take the lid off before sliding it to him. He stares at the TV on the wall and sips at his beer. I ignore him and look at the door to see the usual rush coming in. I crank up the music and the other bartenders come out of the back. I have that odd feeling of being watched again, but I ignore it. Drunk guys usually stare anyways. I slide people their drinks and do a few tricks. I'm in my element and lose myself to the music and the shouts from the patrons who are watching the game.

Time flies by and it's soon closing time. Most of the people leave without argument, but there's always a few who've had too much and don't want to leave. The men who work in the bar usually take care of those guys and we have nothing to worry about.

Once everyone's left I walk towards the back.

"See ya later boss."

"See ya J.J."

He's called me that ever since I came here for work. I walk out of the door, knowing that the boss will lock up when he leaves. Normal people don't risk walking down the street in the narrows in the middle of the night, but I've never been normal. I walk up the rickety old stairs into my apartment. The simplicity of my new home is refreshing. There's not anything extravagant or expensive and it's a change I embrace.

I toss my backpack onto the teal couch in my living room and kick off my boots on the old rug I bought in a thrift store. I walk into my bathroom, which has a few tiles missing, and strip before hopping into my tiny shower. After washing all of the sweat off my body I hop out and grab a black towel from under the sink. I wrap it around myself and walk across the wooden floor into my bedroom.

I grab my pajamas off of the floor, by pajamas I mean an oversized t-shirt that's basically a dress, and ungraciously fall onto the couch and grab the remote. I flip the channels on my tiny TV to the news. I pick at the black nail polish on my fingernails while listening. It's basically the same everyday: theft, murder, rape, and the next big charity event for the local snobs to flaunt their social status.

There's a knock on my door and I think nothing about it and get up and open the door. The first thing I see are some worn out fancy shoes. I slowly bring my eyes up to the strangers face and take in his unusual purple suit as well, I don't know where this guy got his fashion sense, but I kind of like that it's different. When I finally see his face I'm taken aback by his weird face paint. I'm pretty sure it's not Halloween yet. I look in his eyes, which are a brown so dark it's almost black or maybe they are black. I don't think that's genetically possible though. Maybe he's just wearing contacts. The look in those eyes though is unsettling. It makes me want to go hide under my bed and pray to God that he isn't really standing right here. He smiles at me and it's not a comforting smile.

"Hiya-"

Oh shit, I just slammed the door in his face. His voice just caught me off guard and I didn't really think about what I was doing.

"Well, that was rude," I hear him say through the door. He knocks again and I slowly open it. I smile apologetically though it probably looks more like a grimace.

"Did your parents not teach you any ah, manners?"

"No. Actually, they didn't."

"Well, ah I can tell."

"Can I help you?"

"Actually, you can."

He pulls out a sheet of paper from the inside of his suit and clears his throat loudly.

"Jane Jones, peculiar name by the way, diagnosed with schizophrenia and ah, released on good behavior," he licks his lips. "I have a proposition, you come and ah, work for me and I won't kill you."

"Excuse me?" This guy must be drunk or something.

He looks back at his paper, "It doesn't say deaf under your list of issues."

"Where did you get that," I say trying to grab the paper.

"I have my connections. Now what's your verdict?"

"No, I'm not crazy, so I'm not going to work for you. I love my job."

"That's not what this paper says. Oh yes, bar tending, what a way to make a living."

"That paper's wrong and I'm sure bar tending is better than whatever I would do if I worked for you."

"The paper doesn't lie and you're probably ah, right about that, but at least I'm working for a greater purpose. The same thing every day has to be boring. Change it up a little and join my cause."

"And what would this 'cause' be."

"Chaos, sending a message, bringing Batman down, things that I would accomplish sooner if you wouldn't ah, argue with me."

"And if I say no." he pulls a knife out of his pocket and twirls it with his fingers.

"I'll kill you."

"Well, you've made this a difficult decision."

"I know," he says pretending to wipe dirt off of his jacket, " I've always been good with negotiations."

"What do I have to do?"

He steps forward and wraps an arm around my shoulders and pats my head with the knife still in his hand.

"I knew you would see it ah, my way. What you need to do now is pack your bags."

"What?"

"They should really put deaf on that list," he mutters. "Would you like me to pack for you?"

"No, I'll do it."

I stomp to my room like a petulant child and grab a duffel bag, that I also got at a thrift store, and start shoving my things in it. I have no valuables, so I don't have to worry about choosing what to take. Once I'm done I walk back to see the man stretched out on my tiny couch laughing at something. Gosh, I wish he wouldn't laugh like that. I'll probably have a constant headache.

"That didn't take very long. I almost ah, expected you to try to climb out onto the fire escape. Maybe you really are crazy."

"I'm not crazy."

"Sure you aren't," he pats my head again like I'm a child, "keep telling yourself that kid."

He pushes me towards the door, "Our chariot awaits."

What have I gotten myself into.


	3. Revised, not required to read, Chapter 3

**I just fixed some of the grammatical errors and such. There's no point in reading it if you've already read it before hand.**

We got into a white van. There were already some guys sitting in the back when we climbed in. I sat next to a guy with shaggy black hair and a slight beard. Maybe we should take a detour to a barber's shop, because someone obviously needs a haircut. His bloodshot eyes are darting everywhere and his fingers are rapidly tapping on his knee. I'm brought out of my reverie by the van making a sharp turn. I'm flung across the van into someone's lap. I look up at my new boss and realize I don't know his name.

"What's your name?"

He shoves me onto the floor, "Call me Joker."

I now understand his ridiculous face paint. I stand up, but am thrown back onto Joker when the van screeches to a stop.

"I should really invest in some seat belts," he mutters.

He shoves me off again and flings open the door. I'm stuck on the floor trying to dodge people as they file out of the van. Apparently chivalry really is dead. The building we're at is abandoned for obvious reasons. It seriously looks like a health hazard. I survey the environment. We are currently in the middle of nowhere. Joker starts walking towards the building and we automatically follow. He opens the metal door and walks in. There's a big open space and against the far wall are a bunch of doors. He spreads his arms out and turns to us, grinning.

"Welcome to our humble abode. Those are your rooms."

He gestures to the doors and the other guys start walking towards them. I walk to a door, but before I reach it a gloved hand grabs my arms.

"That one's mine."

I yank my arm away with a huff and go to the next door down. With my hand on the knob I turn to look at him, "Is this one yours too."

Before he can answer I turn around and enter the room.

"Don't test me."

I turn to see him in the doorway. "I was just asking a question," I say batting my eyelashes and feigning innocence. He pulls out a knife and throws it. I jump as it lodges itself into the wall next to my head.

"Did your parents not teach you manners?" I smirk at him. I probably shouldn't mess with him like this, but I can't help it. He just brings out all of my best features. Maybe I truly am crazy.

"No, they didn't," he glares before walking towards me. Because he has a really wide gait it doesn't take long before he's looking down at me. He grabs the knife in the wall and yanks it out.

"I don't appreciate your ah, attitude."

"It's not like I want to be here."

"I can fix that. Maybe I should just go ahead and kill you. Since you don't want to be here."

"As tempting as that sounds I think I'll pass. How'd you find me anyways?"

"I have connections and Arkham doesn't keep a good ah, lock on their patient files."

"I would like some privacy."

He looks at me debating before rolling his eyes and waltzing out my door, slamming it behind him. Now that I'm alone I survey my new room. It's not anything special there's a mattress in the corner and a light bulb in the center of the room with a chain. There's a window, to small for me to climb through, on the wall above the mattress. I try out the light bulb and am surprised to find that it actually works. It must be sometime in the morning. The sky is a little lighter than it was when we left my apartment.

There's a knock on the door and I open it and poke my head out. There's not anything there, but my bags are on the floor. I grab them and close my door to change into a Korn t-shirt and black shorts. I slip on my boots and exit my room. There are a couple of guys sitting around a cardboard box on some fold up chairs playing cards. I don't see Joker anywhere and decide to explore the property. When I walk past Joker's room I hear voices.

"What's up with all the crazies boss?"

"I feel that they're more ah, open-minded."

"They're not going with us to the bank are they? I don't want them screwing anything up."

"No, they're not. Now go back and meet up with the other guys and get ready."

By the time I hear their footsteps it's to late to move. The door opens to reveal a man , who doesn't look much older than me. He surprised at first, but soon composes himself and leers at me.

"Who might this be?"

"She's just another one of the 'crazies' ."

I have to hold in my laughter as the guy jumps from the Joker's sudden appearance, but once I realize he called me crazy I turn and glare at the him.

"I'm not crazy."

"Sure you aren't"

The guy starts to say something, but before he can get it out the Joker interrupts him.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?"

He scurries past me and leaves scorch marks on the chipped tile floor.

"You're more trouble than you're worth."

He shuts the door in my face. So that's what it feels like. I turn around to check and make sure the coast is clear before I walk out of the door. The building is surrounded by concrete and on past the concrete is some grass. I can see the outline of Gotham in the distance. Though the sun is completely out now, it's still a little cool. I find a nice spot to sit and lean back against the building. The suns rays feel great on my skin. The warm breeze brushes my curly hair against my face. As I face the sun and close my eyes I find myself drifting off.

**Author's Note: Thanks for all of the favorites, follows and reviews.**

**In response to Batsarecool: Detailing is one of my main struggles and I'm working on fixing it. About Jane, she doesn't have anyone she cares about and she doesn't have any one who cares about her. She has no personal items and nothing to really live for. She just goes through the motions. I think that kind of plays into her reaction to the Joker. It's just that she has nothing to lose and nothing holding her back. I understand that if someone just shows up at your door and gives you an ultimatum any sane person wouldn't go without a fight, but there's nothing for her to fight for. So even if she has to do some crazy job for this weird guy at her door it would be better than whatever gruesome death he would probably come up with if she flat out refuses. Which the further along I get with the story the more her true personality will come out and she hopefully won't seem so emotionless. I think instead of the cliché **_**'girl and Joker fall in love and she fixes him'**_** it's more of a **_**'girl and Joker find each other tolerable and he fixes her and they form some weird companionship'**_**. Another thing is that sometimes authors base their main characters on themselves. Which I guess is kind of a problem for me because I'm not good at expressing emotions either. I hope I've cleared things up a little. Also, thanks for the 'spot on' Joker comment, it really made my day. **


	4. Chapter 4

I'm jolted awake by the sound of the door slamming shut. I look around and see that apparently I fall asleep on the ground while propped up against the building. I glance towards the door and see someone in a clown mask walk out holding a machine gun. Another guy is behind him, though he isn't wearing a mask, and they walk towards the van. My foot's asleep and I wiggle it around to try to get some feeling back into it before I risk standing on it. This doesn't go unnoticed by the clown mask dude.

"You know, if you really wanted to sleep outside, I could have someone bring your mattress out here."

Though he has a mask on, I can here the condescending tone in the Jokers voice.

"Sorry. You were talking so loud that your annoying voice gave me a headache and I decided to come outside. It's just so much more peaceful out here without your irritating laughter that I must have fallen asleep. My apologies."

I look up at his imposing figure towering over me and realize that I probably shouldn't insult him when I'm at such good kicking range.

"Maybe we should ah, cut your ears off. Then you wouldn't have that problem anymore."

"Or maybe, when you finally decide to buy those seat belts, you can also buy some earplugs and solve two problems at once."

"You know-"

"Boss, everything's ready," the other guy yells from behind the wheel.

"Can't you tell that I'm busy!" I'm glad I can't see his face because he's probably glaring knives at me right now and imagining using me as target practice for some freshly sharpened switchblades. I slowly stand up, so I'm not in such a vulnerable position. He shoots the wall next to my head with his machine gun and starts laughing maniacally when I jump away from the rain of bullets embedding into the concrete. Still laughing he turns around and skips over to the van and hops in the back slamming the door shut. The van speeds off, flinging gravel. I would hate to be the guy riding in that van alone with Joker.

…...

I'm laying on my mattress drawing in my sketchbook, which is basically what I've been doing all day, when I hear a loud commotion outside. My curiosity gets the best of me and I get up to check it out. As I pass through the door I notice the new vehicle parked next to the van. To my surprise it's a school bus. Joker hops through the emergency exit and walks past me inside the door. I follow him in.

"Hey, you and ah, you come with me."

He points at the guy I sat next to with the shaggy hair and the other guy from earlier who drove the van. They immediately stand up and go with Joker outside. I can here the van rumble and speed off. I wonder where they're going. I walk past the other guys, who don't spare me a second glance, and go back to drawing. I can't remember when I started sketching, but I would consider myself decent at it. I know I'm not the best, but I'm better than most. I get lost in my doodling and am startled by the sound of muffled voices. There's no light coming through my window so it must be nighttime already. I peak out my door and see Joker yelling and pointing around. I leave my room and close the door behind me.

"No no no. Move it over there. No, that doesn't look right. Move it back."

The guys are moving around some furniture. Wait! That's my furniture.

"What the fuck!"

Joker turns around and grins at me, "How nice of you to join us."

"Why do you have my furniture?"

"What's yours is mine and what's mine is...well, that's mine too. Plus, I thought the place needed a woman's touch and you weren't using it anyways."

"Well I would be using it if you wouldn't have forced me to come here."  
"I believe we had a mutual agreement."

I roll my eyes and watch them move my furniture around.

"Do you want to know what I find odd?"

I bring my attention back to him, "Not really."

"You don't have any pictures. Most ah, normal people have at least one picture, but I didn't see any."

I ponder how to answer this and Joker huffs impatiently.

"I know I say I'm not crazy, but I'm far from normal."

Joker opens his mouth to reply, but I don't give him a chance. I turn around to my room and slam my door shut. The door's probably going to fall off soon with everyone brutalizing it. I jump onto my mattress and grab my book off the floor. My books are my escape. After a while my vision starts to blur and I soon succumb to sleep.

…...

I wake the next day to incessant knocking on my door.

"What?" I say irritably. The door opens and Joker waltzes in.

"Gooood morning sunshine. Get up and dressed you're my a chauffeur for today."

"Grrrrreat," I say sarcastically. I stand up and look at him expectantly. I move my hands back in forth in a 'shoo shoo' gesture. He lifts an eyebrow. He seriously can't be that stupid.

"If you want me to get dressed then I suggest you leave. I'm not changing with you standing there."

His face changes to one of realization before he rolls his eyes.

"Hurry up," he says shutting the door as he finally leaves.

I change into some capris with a few holes and a Red Hot Chili Peppers t shirt. Joker barges in while I'm putting my boots on.

"Really. You couldn't have waited a few more seconds. Patience is a virtue."

"Do I really look like a man of virtues."

I walk behind him out the door and he tosses me some keys. The other guys are sitting around on my couch watching my TV. When we get outside he looks at me for a second, contemplating something, before sticking out his hand.

"Give 'em back."  
It takes me a second before I remember the keys. I drop them in his hand and he stalks off to the van.

"Get in. I'll drive there and show you the way. Then you'll get to drive back."

I slide in the passenger side. The windows of the van are extremely tinted, so it won't be risky driving around in broad daylight. The van rumbles to a start and we take off. I turn on the radio and put it on Gothams local rock station. The song "Stone" by Alice in Chains is playing and I start to bang my head with the beat. Joker looks at me like I'm possessed before he hits the button with more force than necessary. I huff and turn it back on. He glares at me and turns it off.

"Do you want me to ah, brake your fingers?"

"Fine."

I cross my arms and look out the window to watch the tall buildings flash by. Eventually, we pull up to a sketchy looking restaurant. Joker hands me a pistol and looks me in the eye.

"Only use this when necessary and pull up at the door in about fifteen minutes. Can I get a good luck kiss," he points at his cheek and raises his eyebrows suggestively. I look at him with disgust, "No."

He gets out of the car and he walks to the back door of the restaurant. I glance at the clock and watch the minutes tick away. When fourteen minutes have finally passed I grip the pistol tightly and get out of the van. I hop into the drivers seat and start it up. I've never really driven before and I can feel the adrenaline rush through my veins. I screech to a halt in front of the back door and a second later Joker runs out and rips open the passenger door before hopping in.

"Drive, drive," he shouts. I slam my foot on the gas and we speed off. Smoke comes off the tires and there's tire marks left on the pavement. I swerve through traffic and surprisingly no cops try to pull me over. I'm actually quite a good driver, except I don't really have a perception of speed. In no time we're back at our hideout and I park the car and hand Joker the keys.

"Not bad," he says appraising me. I nod at him and hop out of the car. The adrenaline's still there and I feel like skipping through the door. So I do. I feel like a child, but I really just don't care.

"Did you ah, hit your head while I wasn't looking?"

I ignore the Jokers comment and keep skipping into my room and jump onto my bed, slightly bouncing from the impact. I pick up my sketchbook from the floor and start drawing. After a few minutes I come out of my adrenaline high and I'm completely exhausted. I don't know how adrenaline junkies do it, but I'm going to take a much needed nap.

…...

When I wake up my room is pitch black. I don't think I can go back to sleep, but I don't know what I'm going to do. I finally settle on getting up and watching TV. There's only one other guy in the room and he's just staring at the TV screen. I sit as far from him as I can on the couch. The news is on and I stare at the TV screen without really watching it. I have a feeling I might die here. I don't know how, but I don't think there's any other way out. For now though I think I'll just do whatever Joker tells me to do to stay alive. So far he hasn't had me do anything crazy and staying here hasn't been all that bad. _So far._

**Author's Note: It was mentioned that my character was a Mary-sue, which, until recently, I didn't know what a Mary-sue was until one of my friends was kind enough to look it up for me. So this chapter was typed before that comment so she is probably Mary-Sue in this one as well. When I do type my next chapter I will try to keep away from the Mary-sue-ness and hopefully make this story better. I am in no way angered by that comment and I appreciate being told what I'm doing wrong as much as being told what I'm doing right. **


End file.
